Vampire Hunter D: Dark Road Part Three (15 page)

—

The only reason I agreed to appear in a TV program was because I thought, “If I'm on TV, it'll probably help make me famous.” However, I'm not the most social of people, so it was going to be taxing to spend twenty days with the ten or so people involved (and due to a certain mishap, the time ended up stretching to twenty-five days). The trip itself was interesting. It consisted of Bran Castle (which remains for sale at present); the ruins of Targoviste Castle, where Vlad Tepes spent his youth; and Castle Dracula, towering up on the mountaintop. What surprised me during my second visit was that in front of the bridge leading to the castle, there was a little old man from a nearby village who was reading a newspaper, and he charged us admission. I suppose this is one of the effects of liberalization in Romania. The size of the wad of tickets he was carrying made quite an impression on me. In the castle's garden were the remains of a bonfire started by tourists. To be honest, the structure seems a little too small to be called a castle. What we see in Coppola's
Dracula
is far too grand. I suppose it'd be better to call it a
fort
rather than a
castle
. Movie or not, that anyone would transform it into such a mountain stronghold just goes to show what a master of embellishment
Dracula
author Bram Stoker must've been. (
Laughs
)

Speaking of Stoker's embellishments, in the original novel and subsequent films, the scene where Jonathan Harker changes coaches at the Borgo Pass is unsettling, while in fact the place is a fairly gentle stretch of land that opens up after you've climbed a little bit. Couples were sunbathing at the very top of the pass, while to the right loomed what was, all appearances to the contrary, “Hotel Castel Dracula.” Naturally that's where we stayed. I lay down in a coffin on display there, and they filmed me getting up out of it. Oh, it really was cramped in there.

It was from Romania's neighbor Bulgaria and the port town of Varna that Dracula headed to London by ship. Though we went there, it was cut out of the finished broadcast. When we got up in the morning, fog made it impossible to see down the streets, which was quite fun. Well, seeing how Dracula was living out in the sticks with three wives who didn't do a lick of housework and had no talent except for drinking blood, it comes as little surprise that he'd want to relocate to someplace lively like a major city. And when the ship pulled out of that port (supposing it was at night), I can picture Dracula shouting back to the brides he left behind, “See you, suckers!”

Finally, I'd like to end this with an experience that was more hair raising than an encounter with a vampire. When we were returning to Paris from Bucharest, there was a French TV crew with us, but when we arrived and were relaxing at a café, we suddenly heard an incredible explosion. Startled, we looked all around, but everyone else was perfectly calm. At that point, one of our cameramen, who'd gone off to the Lost and Found, came back and told us that apparently there'd been a bomb in someone's luggage. When he went to check out the scene, there was video tape scattered everywhere. It seems the bomb had probably been in the other TV crew's bags. But my blood ran cold at the thought of what would've happened if it had gone off while we were in the air.

—

Hideyuki Kikuchi

March 16, 2010

while watching
Dracula
(Royal Winnipeg Ballet)

—

I

—

Eyes shut, he sat on his throne listening to the sounds of battle ringing out on the floor below. He shouldn't have been hearing these sounds. The clang of sword on sword as iron met steel, the scream of severed flesh and bone, and then the sounds that took their place—the thud of combatants hitting the floor without so much as a final cry. He could even see the sparks that resulted when blade struck blade. All the defensive systems of his castle had been rendered ineffective and his warriors had been slain, and all that remained were the last fifteen stalwart individuals who now faced his fearsome foe in the chamber beneath him.

There was no light in his room. Naturally, there were no windows, either. Though there were those who, despite having eyes that could see in complete darkness, used candles, lamps, and other sources of light just as humans did, he had forgone all of that. As a result, there was nothing in this room except the chair on which he sat, a table, and a coffin. He had no need of the darkness outside. So long as he remained in this room, an inky blackness equally dark and dense would surround him forever.

How long had it been since he'd decided not to leave this room?

A white glow shone behind his eyelids: someone's face. He heard an agonized cry. The groan that rang out was the death rattle of the fifteenth of his retainers, stabbed through the heart.

It was too early. Amazing, even impossible—such speed was terrifying. His foe was truly capable. There was a feverish aching deep in his chest. Power called to power—but though he endeavored to recall the person's name, he fared poorly. That had all been forgotten long ago, the instant he took a seat in this room. And ever since, he'd been at peace.

Inaudible footsteps were climbing the stairs. Unable to slow the racing of his heart, he opened his eyes. Dust filled his field of view, but the world soon became visible.

His foe was on the other side of the door. The dimensional vortex, phase-switching device, hypnocircuits, and other defenses that had been imprinted into the two-inch-thick door would no doubt do their deadly best to eliminate the intruder. But he got the feeling none of them would do any good. His brain could no longer form any picture from the sounds he heard. But between the door and that attacker, a breathtaking life-or-death conflict had to be taking place.

A minute passed.

There was a flash at one edge of the door—at the side where the lock was. It carved the lock right out of the door as if it were slicing through water.

The door was opening without a sound. And he was directly across from it. The fine crack of light grew broader, and when it'd taken on an oblong shape, he saw the shadowy figure who stood on the other side. In the intruder's right hand was the sword he'd lowered. Oddly enough, not a single drop of blood clung to its blade. He wore a wide-brimmed traveler's hat and a black, long coat. The instant the Nobleman glimpsed the face below that hat, he let a gasp of surprise escape in spite of himself. He had to clear his throat with a cough before he could even speak.

“I'd heard there was a Hunter of unearthly beauty out there, but I never thought I'd lay eyes on him myself. I am Count Braujou. And you are?”

“D.”

His reply was more a concept than a word.

“That's what I'd heard.”

First his eyelids and now his lips—both had caused storms of swirling dust, but through it Count Braujou stared at the gorgeous embodiment of death who stood there, silent and stock still.

“I didn't think there was anyone left in the world who'd hire you to destroy me. The outside world should've long since forgotten about my manse, my servants, and me. Why, when I stepped into this room for the last time, it must've been—”

“Five thousand and one years ago,” said the assassin who'd identified himself as D, supplying the answer. The way he spoke without a whit of murderous intent, Count Braujou couldn't help but voice his surprise.

“Hmm, has it been that long? So, is it the farmers of this region who've come to find an old fossil of a Noble like me an obstruction? I don't suppose a Hunter like yourself is too free with information, but if you could, I'd like you to tell me who sent you.”

“It's the Capital,” D said.

“The Capital? But these are the southernmost reaches of the southern Frontier—not the kind of place likely to draw the least bit of attention from the Capital.”

“For human beings, five millennia is time enough for a great many things to change,” said D. “The Capital has set about actively developing the Frontier regions. On the surface, it appears that they're out to eliminate the abhorrent influence of the Nobility who remain on the Frontier—and give the farmers some peace of mind—but their actual aim is the things hidden in places like this.”

The count smiled thinly.

“The wisdom and treasures of the Nobility? So, the lowly humans would pick through the dregs of those they called monsters? I can see where a fossil like me might be a hindrance.”

He made a bow to D where he stood by the door.

“Thank you for sharing this with me. I greatly appreciate it. And to show my gratitude, I shall shake off five millennia of rust and battle you with all my heart and soul.”

Putting his hands on the armrests, the count slowly rose to his feet. From head to foot he was shrouded in gray detritus—dust that had collected on him over the span of five thousand years. Since taking his place in that chair, he hadn't moved a single step. The dust actually felt rather nice as it slid off his skin.

Putting his hands on his hips, the count stretched. Not only from his waist, but also from his spine and shoulder blades there were snaps and pops. Warming himself up, he swung his arms from side to side, bending and stretching them.

“It seems I'm not as rusty as I thought. I suppose this place will serve.”

Looking around, he found the entire chamber filled with ash gray. The eddying dust constantly filled his field of view.

All this time, D watched him silently. You might say it was an incredible folly on his part. Who in their right mind would give a motionless Noble the chance to move again?

The count reached for the spear that was leaning against his chair. Once he'd grabbed it and given it a single swing, the dust fell from it, and his imposing black weapon was awakened from five thousand years of sleep. Twenty feet long, the great spear had a tip that ran a third of that length, and although it seemed like it would be a highly impractical toy or decoration, such would be the case only if this weapon were in the hands of an ordinary person. Having risen from his throne, the Nobleman stood exactly ten feet tall—it was over six and a half feet from the floor to the seat of his chair. Yet the way he pointed his weapon at D's chest without another test swing or any rousing battle cry seemed terribly simplistic, and the count was entirely devoid of killing lust. Just like D.

“Most kind of you to wait. Have at you!” he said, and then the entire situation changed.

D's body warped as if he were behind a heat shimmer. The murderous intent radiating from the tip of the Nobleman's spear was transforming the air. A normal adversary would've fainted dead away just by seeing it directed at him.

In response, D slowly raised his longsword.

Just then, the count said, “My word—who knew that D was such a man?” This time his voice shook with infinite terror as the words spilled from the corner of his mouth. But whatever he'd felt, it would never be made known.

D kicked off the floor. Only those Nobles who'd fallen to his blade knew how amazing and horrifying it was to have it come down at their heads. A millisecond opening—and then a glittering waterwheel spun beneath that shooting star and the trail it left behind. Was it sparks that were sent flying, or the blade?

With the most mellifluous of sounds, D's sword bounced back, and the hem of his black garb spread like the wings of some mystic bird as he made a great bound to the left. As the Hunter landed, so gentle he didn't stir up even a mote of dust, the head of the spinning spear whistled toward his feet. The figure in black narrowly evaded it with a leap, but the shaft of the weapon buzzed at his torso from an impossible angle, only to meet his sword with a thud.

The swipe D made with his blade in midair was something to be feared. Because a heartbeat later, the spear's apparently steel shaft had been severed a foot and a half from the end and was sailing through the air. D's left hand then rose, and a black glint screamed through the air to pierce the base of the giant's throat with unerring accuracy.

Though he staggered for an instant without making a sound, Count Braujou swiftly grabbed the murderous implement with his left hand and tossed it away, groaning, “What have we here?”

It was the severed end of the spear. Lopping it off, D had caught it with his left hand and hurled it like a throwing knife. And that was probably the reason why he'd sliced it off at an angle.

However, even as black blood gushed from the wound, the giant wasn't the least bit rattled as he stood with his long spear at the ready.

And D was equally composed. The right ankle of his boot was split diagonally with fresh blood seeping out, making it known that the count's attack earlier hadn't been without effect, yet the Hunter remained perfectly still with his sword out straight at eye level like an exquisite ice sculpture standing in the inky blackness.

The darkness solidified. The temperature in the room was rapidly falling, thanks to the killing lust that billowed at D from the giant.

What would D do to counter that?

The young man in black simply stood there. In fact, the killing lust disappeared as soon as it touched him—it was unclear whether he absorbed it or deflected it. However, his form distorted mysteriously, and from it there was just one flash—his blade alone remaining immutable, poised to take action against the fearsome spear man.

There was no point in asking which of them moved. Harsh sparks were scattered in a chamber lacquered over with five millennia of pitch blackness.

But before their transient light vanished in the air, a voice told the Hunter, “Wait. The life I abandoned five millennia ago isn't dear to me. I have remained here like the dead for just such a moment as this. D—we will settle this. But may I ask that before I fulfill this promise to you, you allow me to fulfill an earlier pledge?”

The murderous intent had already evaporated, and the two figures—one with sword extended, the other with long spear sweeping to one side—looked as if they might've dissolved into one.

“A star just shot by,” D said.

His head only came up to about the solar plexus of the giant. But from a room with no windows, his eyes had apparently glimpsed something in space.

“Is that the reason?”

“Valcua has returned,” the giant said.

There was a faraway sound to his voice, and a distant look in his eyes. Those same eyes gave off a red glow.

“And he's bound to see to it that those who drove him into space are charred to the bone. He'll be merciless with their innocent descendants. But I must prevent him from doing so. For you see, it's in keeping with a pledge I made in days long past to one of their ancestors.”

The tangled silhouettes separated. At the same time the count lowered his long spear there was the click of hilt against scabbard by D's shoulder. His blade had been sheathed. Turning a defenseless back to his foe, D walked toward the door.

“You have my thanks,” the count said, although it was unclear if his words reached the Hunter. “The last time I raise my spear, it shall be against you.”

—

As D exited the darkened chamber, his left hand rose casually, and from it a hoarse voice said, “I really have to hand it to you this time. You saw it. I did, too. Yep, we saw the same thing he did. A wicked star fell in the northern reaches. I can still see the long, long tail that streamed behind it. Oh—here it comes! An impact only we'd sense. But it's neither its death nor the end. Five . . .”

D kept walking. Not pausing for even a second, he began to descend the staircase.

“Four . . .”

In the midst of the darkness, the giant heaved a long sigh.

“Three . . .”

In one tiny village in a western Frontier sector, a family of three awoke.

“Two . . .”

D halted. He was in the middle of the staircase.

“One . . .”

The star was swallowed by a land of great forests and tundra.

“Zero.”

It was quiet. A silence gripped the world as if time itself had stopped.

Then, when the hoarse voice finally told him, “There it goes,” the gorgeous young man in black who'd been like a sculpture of death finally began walking again.

“Half a northern Frontier sector was laid to waste!” the hoarse voice continued.

The Hunter's eyes as well might have beheld that vision of death.

—

II

—

It was two days later that the survey party from the Northern Frontier Administration Bureau set out for the area where the meteorite had landed.

“This is just . . .” The young geologist was going to say
horrible
, but the spectacle before his eyes had finally robbed him of his speech.

It was a sight that no one could ignore. The roar that assailed their ears was that of a muddy torrent that snaked by in a thick ocher flow just a few yards from where the men had frozen on their mounts. And there wasn't just muddy water. Titanic trees floated by, the places where they'd snapped in two showing plain as day—and the dull thuds that rang out from time to time were the sound of these countless boles banging into one another. As if tethered to the trees, the remains of enormous armored beasts and other unidentifiable monsters also flowed past—as did human corpses.